


Talk to the Hand

by radioaction



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioaction/pseuds/radioaction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An serious take on an AU where Will suffers a mental breakdown, and uses a sock puppet named Winston to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk to the Hand

The curious thing was that it wasn't all that different from before, even if they were now talking to what amounted to a sock puppet on the hand of a sad shell of a man. Will Graham hunched over a dead body, a young woman mounted on a stags head. The horns protruded through her arms, legs and sternum like a sick trophy. She was like the other girls, long brown hair, white, around 15 to 18 years old. Her body was found in the middle of a field, the fourth in a series of murders. On Will's left hand, a puppet examined the scene with him. "Winston" he called it, a muddled brown sock with black button eyes and felt dog ears. It would have been cute if it wasn't whispering to Will, and if Will wasn't whispering back to it.

After 5 months of the addition of Winston, Brian and Jimmy had stopped making jokes behind Wills back, and Beverly had even come to enjoy the cheerful companion. Winston was Will, but optimistic, talkative, funny even in the right circumstances. Jack still addressed Will instead of the puppet, finding the situation ridiculous. This wasn't PeeWee's playhouse, the only reason the puppet was even allowed was because without it, Will just didn't talk. He had tried taking it away from Will once, but Will had reacted violently, so it was never attempted again. Not by him.

Beverly took another photo of the crime scene, then walked around the body to stand beside Will, on Winston's side.

"What does he think, Winston? Is this the same guy?" She asked, getting down to Will's level. Winston turned to look at her, his 'mouth' clamping tight as a low hum left Will. The voice always came from him, no spectacular ventriloquism involved, but the voice was slightly higher than Wills. Not cartoonishly, just a cheerful inflection.

"Will says this is not the same guy, this is a copy cat. I hate cats." Winston seemed to pout, shaking his head. Admittedly, that was kind of cute. It certainly was different from the stoic and often depressing Will Graham before his breakdown. Will pointed to the wounds as Winston explained the differences between this kill and the real Winnasota Shrike's MO. Winston made a point to sound sad when describing how the girl died, but Will didn't change his expression to reflect that. 

 

It was amazing how the situation flip flopped from cute to creepy in one conversation. After Will was done, he stood up and adjusted his glasses, and Winston bows his head in apology, "Sorry Beverly, I wish we knew more. This man is very bad,but very careful. This was a message to us, and hopefully the killers intentions will be clear before they take another life. In the mean time, Will and I need to go write up our report! Good luck, Bev."

Beverly gives Winston a pat, and smiles when the edges of Wills mouth turn up, just a little. 

Jack comes over and looks at Will, having overheard him talking with Beverly. "That can't be all that you got from this. Look closer, there has to be more to this killer's motivation." The officer looked from Will's face to the puppet, then back. He sighs," Will, this has to stop."

"We're trying our best Jack," Winston insisted, frowning, "This copy cat is intelligent, he knows about this case, he knows how to cover his tracks..."

"No, Will. I mean this..." He gestures to the puppet, expression between pity and annoyance. "I'm tired of mitigating with scraps of cloth, I am done. Have you sought any help at all?" He knew the answer of course, but when Will sighs and scratches the back of his head, he knows that Will hasn't even thought about it. No doubt he felt more secure than he had in years, using Winston as a crutch for all interactions. People were looking at Winston now, not at Will. He didn't have to avoid eye contact with social buffer. His eyes could wander as he pleased without appearing disinterested. This wasn't healthy. Will needed help.

Jack sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefingers. He was getting a headache. "Okay, just go back to teaching for a few days. I'll expect that report tonight."

Winston nods, and Will walks back to his car, alone as preferred. When he was safe inside the closed doors of the vehicle, Will looked at Winston, opening and closing the sock mouth. He sighed and pulled Winston off, then turned on his car and pulled out of the makeshift parking lot that the crime unit created. He would look up therapists later, he told himself, but he didn't. That night he drank a little more than usual, the threat of change looming in his mind like an oncoming storm.

\-----

Will no longer lectered in front of his class, instead vying for prerecorded class lectures set to powerpoints. Questions were submitted via email and Will just had to be there to supervise, never actually talking to anyone. It was a few days after the copy cat's victim was found that Alana came to visit him after classes were over. Will was gathering up his things when he heard the soft clicks of heels tap over the threshold. He drops his briefcase on the desk, his back toward her until he pulls on Winston, hands shaking from the sudden and unplanned interaction. Not unwelcome interaction, just sudden.

He turns around and gives her a half smile, while Winston greeted her with a cheerful, "Alana? What a surprise! We didn't know you would be stopping by."

Alana was perhaps the most beautiful woman that Will had the pleasure of knowing, or even not knowing. Besides beauty, she was kind, intelligent, and strong. Stonger than him, than most people, and confident. His admiration for her extended beyond friendship, but Will knew that the chance of a relationship with her was slim, and slimmer now with his current wing-man. The friendship was enough for him anyway, or so he convinced himself.

She was smiling at him, though concern lined her features and made the expression bittersweet. He had to look away from her, his right hand stuffed into his coat as he worried his lip. She was going to bring it up, wasn't she? Jack had got into her head and insisted that she talk with him. Of course she would comply, she cared about him even if it wasn't in the way he wanted. That's what Will thought at least. He was partly right.

 

"Will..." She said his name so lovingly, the tone heavy with genuine concern, something Jack lacked more or less.

"I'm sure you're aware that people are worried about you. I don't intend to patronize you, but I would be lying if I didn't say I was concerned." The subtle twitch of her mouth told him she was holding something back that she didn't feel comfortable saying outright. Bottled emotions. He didn't know what she wanted from him, did they all expect him to take a twelve step program? He felt irritated. Winston, thankfully, didn't portray that. "I know you're worried. We're working on it, though I promise." The puppet chirped.

She studies his face."You're lying." She said disappointed, looking away with an exasperated sigh. He felt cold, knowing this was difficult for her to see. Five months ago he was close to making eye contact with her, then when he opened himself up he let the Shrike in. After that it was hard to keep his wits about him, and harder to keep the demons at bay. She had been there when he had his breakdown, held him as he came undone. Alana was hurting because of him. He felt horrible.

"Yes." Will admitted, looking at Winston. He wanted to talk to her, look at her... but the fear of letting himself be in the position of confrontation was paralyzing. He disengaged, letting himself escape away from the emotionally charged situation. "Will is sorry." Winston looked down, but when her soft and gentle hand touched the top of Winston's head, he's brought back to the present. He looked up and she was looking pointedly at Winston, smiling sadly. She laughs softly, kissing the top of his clothed hand before touching his arm, "He doesn't need to be sorry."

 

Will smiled, looking back at the tops of his shoes, swallowed back emotion as they stood together. They didn't need to say anything more.

 

\----

Hannibal Lecter's office reminds Will of a Bond villain's hide out. The building was imposing, and inside the dark colors combined with elements of nature and prestigious decoration made Will retreat farther into himself than he thought was possible. Whatever credentials possessed Jack to choose this psychiatrist, they must have been impressive. The degrees on the wall of the waiting room certainly were, and Will was beginning to think he hated this 'Hannibal' person. He was probably a Freudian caricature, long white beard and thick glasses with an affinity for tailored suits and fountain pens. He was ready to leave when the door to the main office opened, and a tall man of about forty or so greets him. Blonde hair was being overrun by gray, dark eyes with red hues looked back at him and gave away nothing. Will was wrong about most of his predictions, but the suit hypothesis was spot on. Still, he remained indignant.

 

"Will Graham? I apologize for being discourteous. I would have invited you in earlier if I had known you were waiting." His accent sounded Scandinavian, maybe European in origin. He let Will in, and if Hannibal had any emotional reaction to Winston he didn't show it. He was instructed to sit across from the doctor in a plush black leather chair. He adjusts, but ends up sitting hunched with Winston sitting propped on his knee, looking around. The office decor was avant-garde, and the brunette knew he was dealing with one of those eccentric types. He wanted to tell Hannibal that this was a waste of time, but he knew that even with doctor/patient confidentiality, the news of his disobedience would reach Jack's ears. He keeps his disdain to himself.

Hannibal takes his place across from Will, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair, perfectly content. It was incredibly annoying. 

"Have you had therapy before, Will?"

Will rolled his eyes, but Winston shook his head. He'd gone to councilors before, but therapy was a bit outside his comfort zone. He didn't count the evaluations in his teens as therapy. "No, but we know the basic concept Doctor Lecter." Even Winston sounded a bit lippy. Hannibal didn't make any comment on his tone though.

 

Hannibal nodded, then folds his hands over the top of his knee, looking at him with keen interest. Will could feel his eyes on him, and he felt studied, like his own crime scenes. He shifted in his seat, finally addressing the proverbial elephant"Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask?"

Will almost glared at him, knowing this was a ruse to get him talking. It worked, but only because he chose to allow it, "You know exactly what we're talking about." The accusatory statement sounded almost comical coming from a wool sock. 

 

"Ah, the puppet. I don't plan on telling you what you already are aware of, Will. However I can explain the gist of it if you like." Hannibal sits up in his chair, his hands moving up to rest in his lap. "The puppet is obviously a way of coping with your aversion to connecting to other people through communication. You use it to project feelings and thoughts that you believe you cannot properly express without it. It's a mild case of dissociative identity disorder brought on by emotional trauma."  
"Someones done their homework." Winston looks impressed, but Will tried everything in his power to not to sound sarcastic. Winston tilts his head and asks, "What exactly do now that we've come to that conclusion ?" The more annoyed he got the more Winston stopped being cute about what he said.

"That entirely depends on how willing you are to work with me. The therapeutic process begins with oneself. Once you are ready to open your mind to the possibility of recovery, the therapy can begin.”

There's a silence between them, and Will debates on leaving right then. He could, if Hannibal was to be believed.Yet he could imagine the disappointment on both Jack and Alana's face if he quit now, without even attempting to work with the doctor. He sighs, looking at Winston, before looking back to the stag statue just over the doctors shoulder. "We admit the possibility."  
Hannibal seemed pleased to hear that. Though the doctor had mastered the way of micro-expressions, Will could hear it in his voice. 

"Tell me about the incidents before Winston came into your life."

\---

 

Will told Hannibal about the Minnesota Shrike murders, with which Hannibal was already faintly aware of. He talked about how he started to see the killer, faceless and monstrous in his dreams. About how he had started to imagine killing girls like the Shrike's preferred victims, how he thought dark things about his own coworkers and his friends. Of course, Winston is relaying this information, but the cheerful tone is almost gone from his second voice.Hannibal listens quietly, never looking disinterested or shocked by what Will says, instead offering a sympathetic ear to his suffering. It would be thoughtful if Will didn't remember the doctor was being paid to care.

"It sounds like Winston saved your life, Will. It's very fortunate that you were able to cope with the frightening visions in your mind." Hannibal says after Will finishes talking. Will has not found his comments particularly enlightening, more of the expected variant. He shrugs, not looking for more pats on the back. This wasn't getting anywhere.

"What made you choose a dog for your second face?" Hannibal asked, pointing to Winston, "He is a dog, correct?"

Will huffs, between a laugh and a sigh. He made the puppet nod,"I'm a dog, Will just isn't a seamstress. Dogs are friendly."

"Do you desire to be more friendly? Or is it you see yourself as a loyal lap dog for the FBI, always at their disposal and dismissed with a pat on the head for being a 'good boy'?" The doctor asked with a straight face as usual. Will very nearly met his eyes, feeling targeted. He squeezed his right hand into a fist, then stretched the fingers experimentally before gripping the arm of his chair.

"That says more about what you see me as, than what Will sees in himself." Winston said as Will set his jaw. 

"Very perceptive. However I did ask you two questions."

Will crossed his free hand around himself. The exit was just a couple yards away. Just a few long strides and he could be out the door. His feet didn't cooperate with his mind, so he remained in his seat. The other read Will's body language and after a moment of silence Hannibal changed his tactics.

"Do you think of yourself as lovable, or as one incapable of receiving love."

Will snapped his eyes up, looking at Hannibal incredulously, only for a second before his eyes darted down to look at Hannibal's shoes. He felt the blush creep up his neck, touching his ears as he felt Hannibal watching him with more interest than ever. He didn't know if he liked where is was going. Hannibal seemed encouraged though, and Will saw him lean forward in his seat, interest piqued. "Am I right in believing that you haven't had skin to skin contact in some time?"

"Why on earth are you asking that." Winston moved his mouth, but the voice was all Will. His legs itched to run, but deep down he was curious to figure out what the doctor was getting at. 

Hannibal smiled, amused. Will wanted to scratch it off his face. "Physical contact is important to emotional development. Perhaps in immersing yourself in others emotional well being, you lost out on opportunities to further your own." At this point Will interrupted him.

"Daddy didn't love me enough? Is that your angle Doctor Lecter? Low hanging fruit for a professional such as yourself don't you think?" Wills voice was biting, his blush becoming angry. This asshole was getting on his nerves. One more crack and he was out of here.

"Perhaps, but it's not out of the question. Parental influences can be detrimental in psychological development. I was however more interested in your recent relationships, from the past 5 years or so."

Will laughed bitterly, "Are you insinuating that one needs to have sex to feel emotionally validated? Let's talk about your childhood Doctor."

"Not all contact is sexual, William." Hannibal says that but doesn't act upset by Will's sarcastic tone, "Physical comfort can do wonders."

'If you try to hug me I will not hesitate to shove Winston so far up your pasty ass that you taste lint.' Will thinks to himself, the thought of the look on Hannibal's face if he were to do that threatened to make him smile, almost laugh. This guy was reaching. Yet he did have 30 minutes more to burn, and it didn't look like Hannibal was going to advance until he said something. With an annoyed sigh, Will looked at the rim of his glasses and thought about it. "There was a girl that I had almost been intimate with. We danced around the subject for months. When I tried to let her in, I ended up opening myself to all of the murderers and psychopaths that I'd been trying to keep out." The guilt weighted his arms and legs, and his arm holding his puppet rested on his lap. Just thinking about his mental breakdown made his skin crawl."One night I found myself standing over her sleeping form, a hunting knife held tightly in my hand. I had no idea when I had gotten up to get it, but I knew what I had almost done." 

He had collapsed by her bedside, hands cupped around his face as he started to fall apart. Alana had been woken up by his shuttering sobs, and between kneeling down to hold him and reaching for the phone she had pried the knife from his hand. She was afraid he had tried hurting himself, which was what he had wanted her to believe. Anything was better than to have her know he could have hurt her.

When the silence stretched between them, Hannibal says in a tone Will can only label as reassuring, "You didn't carry out whatever intention you had when you retrieved the knife, Will. The demons that hide in your subconscious took control, but the dominant personality took it back. All without the aide of Winston." Quirks of a smile tease the doctors lips, and Will feels confused but somehow validated at the notion. He had stopped himself in the nick of time, but that was only one time. He truly feared the possibility that the murders in his nightmares had bled into his waking life. Never had he wanted to drink more than this very moment.

With 5 minutes left, Will stood from his seat and once again Winston was up by his side. The doctor accepted his leaving with a nod and a reminder to come back next week, same time. At least he didn't have a folder worth of prescriptions to take home. Whiskey was really the only medicine he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you'd like to read more! For people such as myself, if no one seems interested in the story then there's no reason to update on it. I'm happy to take criticism and suggestions on grammar :) Thank you for coming this far!
> 
> Edit:: I will be continuing this, chapter 2 will hopefully be up in the next day or so. Thank you so much who commented! I hope you enjoy the parts to come.


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